


The Best Laid Plans

by avantegarda



Series: It's the New World, Darling-A 19th-20th Century AU [13]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Gen, and luthien is pretty much just making this up as she goes along, celegorm and curufin are not being very helpful, i mean this is in america but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avantegarda/pseuds/avantegarda
Summary: Even the most noble of quests can get off to a rough start.





	1. A Gentleman's Agreement (Celegorm)

**Author's Note:**

> I've realized of late that this AU is basically the equivalent of a weirdly niche hobby that I ramble about nonstop in hopes that at least one other person will find it interesting. If you are that person: I love you. Thanks for reading.

_ New York _

_ Boston _

_ Philadelphia _

_ Atlantic City _

_ Chicago _

_ Detroit _

_ San Francisco _

_ Los Angeles _

 

These eight cities, scribbled onto a piece of paper brought over in our father’s pocket from London, constituted the instructions that Dad had left for us after his untimely death in New York. Because each one of those scribbled names represented a place in the States where Melkor “Morgoth”  Bauglir, infamous thief, murderer, and gangster, was known to have connections. And the closer we got to tracking him down, the closer we got to killing him.

After Dad was killed, the seven of us as well as our cousins had divided the country between us: Maedhros took Boston, Maglor took New York, Caranthir had Atlantic City, and the twins had Los Angeles. Curufin and I had originally set ourselves up in San Francisco, where we’d had a reasonable degree of success in clearing Bauglir’s scum off the streets, but after a series of unfortunate setbacks we’d been forced to flee south to the small resort town of Nargothrond, where our cousin Finrod had recently been elected mayor.

Finrod was by far the most well-behaved of the members of our extended family who had come along to the States, and it was fairly obvious he’d only come along to keep the rest of us from destroying each other. Still, there was no denying that he was a success: Finrod adored the Yanks, and they adored him right back, to the point where they’d been happy to elect him mayor of Nargothrond despite his connection to a pack of criminals (us).

I didn’t particularly mind staying with Finrod—he was an agreeable enough fellow, and we were safe under his protection. Nargothrond was a fairly dull town, popular among elderly people who moved there for the climate and young artistic types who moved there for the inspiration, but there was good food and a reasonable number of pretty girls, and I for one was content enough.

For a decent gentleman, though, Finrod certainly had some odd friends.

 

One sunny afternoon in 1899, Curufin and I returned home from a productive afternoon of drinking and arguing to find our cousin Finrod in his sitting room, sipping tea and chatting with a young man who looked as though he had just spent a week in a coal mine. Before we could turn and flee, Finrod noticed us and beckoned us over with a bright smile.

“Just who I was hoping to see! Gentlemen, this is a good friend of mine from West Virginia, Mr. Beren Bergman. Beren, allow me to introduce my cousins, Celegorm and Curufin Gates. They’re my...guests here, for the moment.” 

Beren nodded politely to us. “Glad to know you, fellas. Listen, Finrod, I’ve got something fairly serious to talk to you about. Would it be better for us to talk alone, or…”

Finrod glanced at us hesitantly, before shaking his head. “Quite all right, Beren. Anything you have to tell me can be said in front of my cousins.”

“If you say so,” said Beren, sounding unconvinced. “Well...it’s about my fiancée.”

“Your fiancée?” Finrod exclaimed. “But that’s  _ wonderful _ , Beren! You must tell me all about her. Any fiancée of yours must be incredibly lovely and charming.”

“She is! The brightest and most beautiful girl the good Lord ever made. But it’s her family that’s the trouble. Do you know of Thingol duBois?”

“The governor of Louisiana? Oh yes, we’ve met. I believe we may even be distantly related somehow, through my mother.”

“Well, the girl in question is his daughter, Luthien. She’s perfectly happy to marry me, for some reason, but her father has decided there’s no way on God’s green earth his daughter is going to marry so far beneath her.”

“Dear me, that is a problem. I suppose you’ve tried to talk it out with him?”

“Sure I did. And you know what he said to me? He said if I can steal some kind of fancy artificial diamond from that Morgoth fellow, the criminal,  _ then  _ Lulu and I can get married  Which is what brings me here, long story short.”

“Now wait just a bloody minute,” I put in. “Am I hearing this correctly? That idiot Thingol duBois is using our father’s diamonds as a bargaining chip for his daughter’s hand in marriage?”

“The absolute cheek of the thing,” Curufin grumbled. “These Yanks, no respect for personal property.”

Finrod shot him a sharp look before turning back to Beren. “Forgive my cousins’ language, the Gates Artificial Diamonds are...important to them. But I must say, this task you’ve been assigned...if not impossible, it’s certainly highly improbable. I’d offer to help you two simply elope, but I expect you’re far too honorable for that.”

“‘Fraid so,” said Beren. “I’m not going to be responsible for separating Lulu from her family, she loves them. If there’s any chance at all I can marry her with her folks’ permission, like a gentleman, then I’m going to take it.”

“Oh, please,” said Curufin. “If all seven of  _ us,  _ Britain’s best and brightest working together, can’t steal back the damned GADs, what makes you think you’ve got any kind of a chance alone?”

“He won’t be alone,” Finrod said firmly. “He’ll have me.”

Beren looked at him in surprise. “I will?”

“Absolutely you will. Beren, am I correct in saying that you still have your father’s ring? You haven’t been forced to sell it, or anything?”

“As if I ever would.” Beren reached into the collar of his shirt, pulling out a thin chain on which hung a rather gaudy silver-and-emerald ring. “My father gave it to me just before he died. I haven’t let it out of my sight since.”

“My own father gave me that ring when I finished school. And I gave it to your father because, when I first arrived in this country, he saved my life when I was set upon by some thugs when I was on the road. I was a young British fool who didn’t have the good sense not to wear his finest suit in a saloon. Plenty of men would have left me to be beaten and robbed, but not Barahir Bergman. So I made him a promise that whenever his family was in trouble, I’d be right there to help them, no matter what.” Finrod put a hand on Beren’s shoulder. “I’m with you every step of the way, Beren Bergman. I’ll help you get it.”

“How touching,” I said. “But I’d like to remind you all that this grand quest you are talking about still involves stealing our family’s property and giving it to someone else.”

“Well, why don’t you two help us?” Beren asked. “Of everyone in this room, you two know the most about the criminal underworld, no offense…”

“None taken.”

“Seems to me you gents would be ideal to have along on a mission like this. Will you consider it?”

“Hmm,” I said. “Curufin, a word?”

My brother nodded, and the two of us made our way to my bedroom, where we could speak without the risk of anyone overhearing.

“So. What do you think?”

Curufin snorted. “What do I think? I think both of them should start praying to St. Jude immediately if they want even a chance of getting out of this alive.”

“Well, yes, obviously. But maybe they’d have more of a chance of surviving if we went along. If we can find Morgoth Bauglir, then we can finally have our revenge and get back the GADs. Maybe Thingol duBois can even keep one if we get the other two back.”

He shook his head. “That’s not how this works. We promised Father that we would get  _ all  _ of them back. Do you honestly want that upstart governor of Louisiana just keeping one of the GADs, like he has any right to it at all? Because that’s not something I can stomach.”

“What would you suggest we do, then?”

“For now? Nothing. Let Finrod and Beren head up to San Francisco and try to pull this off themselves. If they fail, it’ll be a tragedy and we’ll pay for their funerals. If they somehow succeed, well...I’m sure between us we can bribe or threaten Thingol duBois into giving us back what’s ours.”

“Curufin, you are a genius as always.”

 

“Have you made your decision?” Finrod asked us eagerly upon our return to the sitting room.

“We have,” said Curufin smoothly. “Mr. Bergman, I am deeply sorry to tell you that my brother and I are not going to be able to come along on your quest. Due to the circumstances under which we left San Francisco in the first place, we don’t think it would be wise for us to return. I’m sure you understand.”

Finrod sighed. “Somehow that does not surprise me at all. Very well, then. I’ll be leaving Orodreth in charge...can I count on you to assist him with keeping the place running?”

“Orodreth?” Curufin spat. “That spineless…” I elbowed him sharply, and he swallowed the rest of his sentence. “Of course we will.”

“All right, then.” Finrod looked at Curufin suspiciously before turning back to Beren, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll leave in a few days, then. For now, let’s get you a hot bath and a good meal.”

“What a pair of noble idiots,” Curufin remarked as the door closed behind them. “Think we’ll ever see them again?”

“Well, I rather hope so,” I said. “But I wouldn’t put any money on it.”


	2. A Lady's Choice (Luthien)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is two chapters FOR NOW but if I get more 1890s Lay of Lethian inspiration you guys may have to deal with some random updates, just as a fair warning.

My escape plan, two days in, was going swimmingly. I’d given my parents the slip and found my way to the Baton Rouge train station, where I bought a ticket to California with about half of the small amount of money I’d been able to sneak out of the house. Thus far no one had seen through my hastily-constructed disguise (consisting of short hair, overalls, and a straw hat), and if my father had sent anyone after me, they didn’t seem to be having much luck catching up. The train journeys were dull, but I’d managed to find a few dime novels to stash in my bag for entertainment, and as the train chugged through the Arizona Territory I was feeling thoroughly pleased with myself.

“Tickets!”

The porter’s voice snapped me out of the light doze I’d fallen into, and I realized we had ground to a halt outside a dusty, unremarkable small-town station. Rubbing my eyes, I dug my ticket out of the pocket of my overalls and handed it over, keeping my face turned carefully away from him. The porter inspected the piece of paper, raising his eyebrows.

“Young man, this ticket is for Santa Fe.”

“What?” I squeaked, before remembering I was supposed to be a boy. Hurriedly lowering my voice, I whispered, “I mean, I changed trains in Santa Fe, but I’m going to California. I thought this ticket was for the whole journey.”

“You’re supposed to get a  _ new ticket  _ when you change trains, boy,” huffed the porter. “Does this ticket look like it says ‘California?’ No, it says Santa Fe, right there under Destination. Honestly, son, are you plumb stupid as well as plug-ugly?”

I’d never been called ugly before in my life, and I was torn between laughter and panic. “So what do I do? Can I buy a new ticket now?”

“Get off here.” The porter jerked his thumb towards the door. “We’re at Santa Clara station now, you can buy a ticket here. Ought to be another train coming through tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? But I don’t…”

“Listen, boy, you got two choices: get off here, buy yourself a ticket, and catch the train tomorrow, or I call the sheriff and have you clapped in irons for traveling on an unpaid ticket. Which one is it gonna be?”

I leapt to my feet, nearly hitting my head on the train ceiling, and grabbed the faded carpetbag I’d borrowed from our housekeeper back in Baton Rouge. “I’ll go with the first one. Sorry, sir.” Tugging my hat down over my face before he could get a good look at me, I hurried out the door and onto the platform.

The new ticket to California cost ten dollars, nearly all the money I had left, and I was informed by the gruff man at the ticket counter that the next train would leave at noon on the following day. When I asked him if he knew of a reputable hotel where I could spend the night, he guffawed, spat out his chewing tobacco, and slammed the ticket window closed.

Santa Clara had little to recommend it—it looked as though half the town had been abandoned forty years earlier—and despite my exhaustion and growling stomach I wasn’t about to set foot in any of the seedy-looking saloons that lined the dusty main street. After what felt like hours of wandering, I finally discovered a place with a faded sign declaring it a “Café,” wherein I collapsed onto a barstool and ordered an enormous plate of eggs and a mug of hot, bitter coffee from the stooped gray-haired man behind the counter. The food wasn’t anything to write home about, but I devoured it within minutes, barely pausing to take a breath.

“You look like you needed that, kid,” laughed the barman, whisking away my empty plate. “That’ll be ten cents.”

A quick dig through my pockets and the bottom of my carpetbag revealed that not only did I not have a dime, I only had five cents left to my name. “Er…” I said. “I don’t think…”

He scowled at me, all joviality gone. “Kid, you either pay up or you’ll be spending the night in the jailhouse.”

Did everyone in the West threaten to put people in prison for every minor offense? I glanced surreptitiously at the door, wondering if I could somehow make a break for it, when a dollar bill was shoved under my nose.

“I’ll pay for the young lady’s eggs. Keep the change.”

I looked to my left, where a handsome, fair-haired man with a crooked nose sat, handing the bill to the man at the counter and nonchalantly waving him away. He winked at me and grinned, showing blindingly white teeth. “Never could stand to see a poor soul go hungry.”

“Young  _ lady?”  _ I said, rather stupidly.

“But of course. That’s a fine disguise you’ve got, miss, and I’m sure you’ve a good reason for wearing it, but I can recognize a pretty girl from a mile away.” He was dressed like a cowboy, in a flannel shirt and faded deerskin jacket, but spoke with a clipped, elegant accent it took me a moment to place.

“You’re British!” I exclaimed. “Are you from London? I went to London with my mother once a few years back, and it was absolutely glorious. We saw the most wonderful musical comedy…” Realizing I was prattling from nerves, I clamped my mouth shut before I gave anything away. I was supposed to be an ordinary person while I was on the road, not a governor’s daughter who went about touring Europe.

The man smiled. “I am indeed from London, though I haven’t lived there in some time. I must not have been in the city when you and your mother visited, for if I had been I most certainly would have remembered you.” He held out a tanned, calloused hand. “Celegorm Gates, at your service.”

“I’m Lu...Lulu. Call me Lulu.”

There was a brief flash of recognition in his eyes, and I was momentarily terrified that he knew who I was, that he was a Pinkerton’s detective or some such that my father had hired to bring me home. But Celegorm merely nodded and shook my hand, still smiling charmingly. “A lovely name for a lovely girl. And what brings you to Santa Clara, Miss Lulu?”

“A mistake with a train ticket,” I said. “I meant to go to California, but my ticket was only for Santa Fe, so now I’ll have to catch the train tomorrow.”

“Hmm. And whereabouts in California are you headed?”

I hesitated, before deciding to tell the truth—he didn’t know me, so what harm could it do? “Nargothrond.”

“Nargothrond?” Celegorm exclaimed. “My goodness, what a coincidence. My brother, who is currently looking after our horses, and I  _ live  _ in Nargothrond. We’re only in Santa Clara because we fancied a bit of a desert holiday. How serendipitous that we should meet.”

“You live in Nargothrond? But…” I slapped the bar, finally putting two and two together. “Your surname is  _ Gates!  _ You live in Nargothrond, and your surname is Gates! Are you by any chance related to a man named Finrod Gates?”

He inclined his head slightly. “But of course, he is my cousin. Half-cousin, if we’re being specific, which I very rarely am.”

“Good Lord, this is extraordinary. Look, Mr. Gates, may I be honest with you?” I asked, leaning in closer. “I’m going to Nargothrond because I’m looking for a...friend of mine. Beren Bergman. And I know for a fact that not two weeks ago he went to Nargothrond to get help from your cousin. Did you see him?”

“That name does sound familiar,” Celegorm said thoughtfully. “Middling height, curly hair, poor hygiene?”

I scowled. “Beren does  _ not  _ have poor hygiene.”

“Apologies, I must have caught him on a bad day. But yes, I do believe I met him. Nice enough chap, though I couldn’t always understand his accent. My cousin Finrod was very enthusiastic about helping him.”

I nearly fell off my stool in relief. If Beren had found his friend, then surely he was in good hands, and I would be able to track him down. “You can’t know what that means to me to hear, Mr. Gates. Thank you. Now, I don’t suppose you know a good hotel in this town? I’ll have to find somewhere safe to spend the night so I can catch the train tomorrow.”

“Now, that is an issue. Unfortunately, my dear, there are not any good hotels in this town. Those inns that exist tend to double as...houses of ill repute, shall we say. I wouldn’t like to leave you in a place like that.”

“Oh, dammit,” I said. I couldn’t remember the last time I had cursed, and enjoyed the sensation so much I repeated myself. “Dammit. What am I to do, then?” 

Celegorm scratched his chin, looking at me with interest. “Miss Lulu, if it’s not impertinent to say so, I have an idea. Curufin and I are planning to leave Santa Clara this very afternoon and head back to California. How would you feel about accompanying us?”

“You mean, you’d take me along with you?”

“It would be our honor. We’ll be traveling by horse so it may not be quite as comfortable as a train, but we’ll travel efficiently, and you won’t have to spend the night in some disreputable inn while you wait for a train. And while I’m certain that you are an expert adventurer, I expect you’ll be much safer with us than as a young woman traveling alone. That disguise isn’t going to fool everyone, you know.”

He was being a bit patronizing, but I had to admit he had a point. If Celegorm had seen through my disguise, there was no guarantee I wouldn’t meet someone else who could as well. There was certainly something to be said for having protection on the road—particularly if that protection happened to be handsome and charming.

(Not that I really cared how good-looking Celegorm was, of course. But if a girl’s going to have traveling companions, she may as well pick agreeable ones)

“All right then, Mr. Gates,” I said, shaking his hand firmly. “I accept your kind offer. Thank you.”

“Delightful!” Celegorm cried, standing and picking up my heavy carpetbag as if it weighed no more than a feather. “Never you fear, Miss Lulu. We’ll get you to California safe and sound before you can say Jack Robinson.”

As I followed him out of the café into the blazing midday sun, I remembered something else Beren had told me about his friend Finrod:  _ half his cousins are criminals _ .

But then, I couldn’t be entirely sure which half Celegorm and Curufin belonged to. And even if they turned out not to be trustworthy...well. I would figure it out.

I always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure why Luthien's parents forgot to give her the "don't go on adventures with strange British men you meet in the desert" talk, but then again, she's had a very sheltered childhood.


End file.
